


Fool me once

by manicmama



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:37:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7107100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manicmama/pseuds/manicmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been nearly a year - but Dean knows he isn't over the man who broke his heart. Can he face him again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fool me once

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure where this came from, nothing to do with the Supernatural series except the names of the characters. But here it is anyway.

Dean stands on the sidewalk outside the bar, jaw clenched and fists balled deep in the pockets of his old leather jacket, hating the rolling turmoil in the pit of his stomach. This is his bar, he’s been coming here for years, it’s the one he always goes to – but he knows why it’s so hard to make his feet walk through the big wooden doors tonight. Dean has heard through the grapevine that HE is back.. and he hasn’t seen HIM for about a year, since HE left, taking most of Dean’s heart with HIM. 

Dean lets out a pent-up breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding, and watches it steam in the frosty night air.

“Fuck it. Fuck it all.” He mutters and strides forward, pushing the door open with the flat of his hand.

The bar feels hot after standing so long outside in the cold, and Dean hangs his jacket on the hooks by the doors before heading purposefully to his usual spot at the bar – he nods hello to a few acquaintances, but tries to avoid looking around too much. Once seated on his favourite stool, though, he can’t help but check out the other drinkers, using the big mirrors behind the bar. HE doesn’t seem to be there, and Dean lets out another long breath as the bartender comes over.

“Hi, Dean. Usual?” she asks, reaching for a bottle of beer.

He nods at her, takes the beer and tries a smile on for size. Looks genuine enough in his reflection, so that’s ok. Dean has never been one for sharing his inner thoughts and feelings, doesn’t like to wear his heart on his sleeve, and he doesn’t want anyone to know just how very tense he is feeling tonight. He lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a long, cold swallow – that’s good, that helps. And then, as his eyes flick to the mirrors again, all progress in feeling good is gone, as he locks gazes with HIM.

Castiel is sitting with a big group in a booth against the wall – the others are moving around, talking, laughing, leaning across each other to share jokes, which is probably why Dean hadn’t spotted him before – but Castiel is as still as a rock. And his eyes are fixed on Dean’s. A small smile tugs up one corner of his mouth, and he tips his drink at Dean in a half-mocking salute. Dean nods back, trying not to let any expression show on his face, then breaks his gaze away, looking down at his beer instead. Damn! Why did Cas have to be here tonight? And why did he have to look so damn good – Dean’s mouth twists wryly as he admits he’s nowhere near being over him – just the sight of Castiel has his mouth dry and his heart beating too fast again. He looks up, catches the bartenders eye, and she saunters over.

“Ready for another beer, Dean?” she smiles.

“Yeah – and a shot of your good whiskey, too, Jo.” He answers.

She raises her brows at him.

“Bit early for you to start on the whiskey, isn’t it?” she asks, cracking open his beer and reaching for a shot glass.

He forces a smile as he replies,

“Yeah. Been a long day. I’ll finish these up and then I’m gonna go hit the sack.”

“Really? Want some company? My shift is finished soon,” she asks with a saucy smile, and his grin is more genuine this time as he shakes his head.

“Not tonight, Jo. But thanks!”

“Your loss.” She grins back and walks away with a pert swing of her hips.

He and Jo have shared a bed on more than one occasion, when both just needed to be with someone, to hold someone, just for a night or maybe two. It’s always been good between them, always been easy with none of the complications a relationship brings. Jo is an openhearted, generous lover and Dean has enjoyed her company very much. But not tonight, no. To take her home and fuck her just to get Castiel out of his head would be treating her very badly, and Dean knows it.

Dean has known he is bisexual for about ten years now, since he first went to visit his brother, when Sammy was studying at Stanford. He decided to spend some time in California, it would be his first vacation for years, and of course, you can’t go to California without going to the beach. And that was where he met Judd, a cliché in the making, tall, tanned, with long blond messy hair. A surfer, he taught Dean to surf, amongst many other things, and Dean had been astonished to find himself perfectly comfortable with a male lover – although not half as astonished as Sammy had been when Dean introduced him to Judd. Since then he has had two, maybe three male lovers and many more female – it’s still mostly women that light his fuse. 

Until he met Castiel. Dean looks down at his beer, remembering the night three years ago, when Castiel had first walked into the bar. It had been a much quieter night, and Dean had casually looked up as he heard the doors opening – and been instantly transfixed. There had stood Castiel, looking around him a bit uncertainly – he looked a bit out of place, in a tatty old trenchcoat, with a white button-down shirt underneath and a bright blue tie. Dean was able to get a good look at him, and noticed the long, muscled legs in the tight, ripped blue jeans, the trim waist and broad shoulders as he turned and the trenchcoat flapped open. It had been a long, long time since Dean had seen a guy who’d attracted him the way this one had – Dean had caught his eye and smiled in invitation – the guy would either respond or not, it was always worth a try. And Castiel had smiled back and come to sit by him, and Dean had looked at him, fallen into that wide blue gaze and nothing had ever been the same again.

Lost in a fog of memories, Dean starts a little as he feels a hand brush his shoulder, and his eyes fly up to the mirror to see Castiel standing close behind him.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel breathes in his ear, leaning forward with his hand still on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean can feel the heat from his body, so, so close. He tries hard but can’t repress the quiver that runs through him, and he knows that Castiel feels it, and felt him start when he first touched him, and is enjoying the power he obviously still has over Dean. He picks up his beer to take a slug, and his hand is trembling minutely – he knows that Castiel has noticed this too, and he hates it, hates that he can’t control himself.

“Cas,” Dean manages to grind out. “How’s it going?”

Castiel is standing so close now that Dean can feel the soft laugh he gives before he answers.

“Well, I’ve been away for a while, Dean. Travelling about – doing this and that. Did you miss me?”

Dean finally turns on his stool and looks fully at Castiel for the first time – looks into those eyes, still wide and blue, but not so soft now, not so open.

“Yes.” He answers baldly, and Castiel laughs again.

“Still can’t lie, Dean. That’s one of the things I loved about you.” And although his voice is mocking, Dean hears a vein of... truth, maybe? running through it.

Dean looks and looks at him, filling his eyes with the image of Castiel. The messy black hair is the same, as are the gorgeously blue, blue eyes and the soft mouth. The body is still slim and well –muscled. The trenchcoat and tie have gone, and the white shirt is a more expensive, probably designer version of the original which fits him to perfection and shows off the breadth of his shoulders. The ripped jeans are still part of the look, although these are probably the designer version too. Dean raises his eyes to Castiel’s again, green eyes meeting blue.

“Yeah, I missed you.” He rasps. “Now I think you should go back to your friends and leave me the fuck alone.”

For a moment he thinks he sees a fleeting hurt in those eyes, but if so, it’s gone fast and Castiel is laughing again. 

“Dean, Dean – always so blunt. Would you believe I missed you too?” he asks playfully. He takes his hand from Dean’s shoulder, but doesn’t move away just yet and Dean can smell him, the familiar citrussy scent of him rising into his nostrils, bringing a painful nostalgia with it and making him ache with wanting.

“I’ll see you around, Dean.” Castiel says, low, gazing fully into Dean’s eyes, no trace of amusement in his face now, and it sounds almost like a threat? A promise? Dean doesn’t know, his head is spinning now, and he turns back to the bar, unwilling to watch Castiel walk away from him again. The lights begin to seem too bright, the laughter and chatter from the other drinkers too loud, and he finishes his beer quickly, knocks back the shot of whiskey, and stands, fishing for his wallet.

“On the house, Dean.” Jo is standing in front of him. “Put your money away.”

She looks at him, and he knows she has seen the encounter with Castiel, has guessed how he is feeling. His eyes smart a little, and he gruffly says,

“Thanks Jo. I’ll buy you a beer next time.” And as she smiles, he turns and heads for the door, grabbing his jacket on the way.

The cold air as he hits the street helps to clear his head, and he strides down the sidewalk to where he left the Impala, feeling steadier by the minute. He opens the car and slides in, the familiar smells of leather and oil, and the rumble as he starts the engine vaguely soothing. Dean gets the heater going, and sits there for a while, mulling over the recent encounter with Castiel. He wishes that he could have played it cooler, but his feelings are still too raw and he’s never been good at playing head-games anyway. He’s always preferred the straightforward approach in his relationships, largely the reason why he’s still friends with so many of his past lovers.

“Fuck it.” he finally mumbles, as he straightens up preparing to put the car into gear and pull away – just as the passenger door swings open and Castiel slips into the seat next to him.

Dean’s jaw literally drops open for a moment, and when he can catch his breath, he growls,

“What the fuck, Cas?”

Castiel smiles sweetly at him.

“Still driving this heap of junk, I see, Dean.” he remarks. When all he receives in return is an unamused glare, he sighs, and continues.

“It’s been a long time, Dean. Take me home. I think we need to catch up, don’t you?”

Dean can only stare at him, thrown by the whole situation.

“Why the fuck would I take you home with me?” he chokes out.

Castiel looks at him, eyes half-lidded now.

“Because you want to, deep down. Because you’ve missed me...” and suddenly he’s sliding across the bench seat until he is so close that Dean can feel his breath, “because you still love me.” he purrs.

And Deans’ eyes fall closed as he feels that soft mouth on his, and God help him, he can’t help but kiss back.

Then Castiel is moving back across the seat, still holding Dean with that electric blue gaze.

“I thought so,” he whispers. “Take me home, Dean. Please.”

As if in a dream, Dean puts the car into gear and drives to his home. The ride is silent, just the growl of the big engine – Dean doesn’t turn on his music and Castiel doesn’t speak, just sits there looking out of the window. As they pull up in Dean’s parking space, Castiel makes his first remark.

“Still living above the shop, I see, Dean.” The faintly mocking tone is back.

Dean refuses to rise to the bait – when they lived together, Castiel was always trying to get him to move to somewhere livelier, somewhere a bit less... industrial.

“It makes sense for me to live here.” is all he says in reply.

Dean owns Winchester Auto Body and Detailing, now one of the premier detailing body shops in the state. He inherited the business from his dad, and has built it up until he now has a waiting list of people willing to pay him a small fortune to “pimp” their rides. The business also does standard auto repairs, and Dean has over a dozen guys working for him, all top mechanics who are regularly headhunted by the competition. Dean himself drives a ’67 Chevy Impala, the pride of his collection and the first car he ever owned. It looks as pristine as the day it rolled off the assembly line, although what’s under the hood is not, strictly speaking, standard any more.

As Dean steps out of the car and walks to the side door leading to his apartment, he is hyper aware of Castiel, close behind him. He trudges up the stairs flicking on the lights as he enters the living room, and throws his jacket over the nearest chair. He turns to face Castiel, forcing his face and voice into an ease he is far from feeling.

“You want some coffee?” he asks.

Castiel is slowly removing his heavy coat, face thoughtful as he looks around. The sight of his graceful shape, slim and toned inside the white shirt, makes Dean swallow hard against the sudden pressure in his throat. He turns to face Dean.

“Coffee, Dean, really?” he smiles. “Don’t tell me you haven’t got a bottle of good whiskey stashed in your kitchen cupboard – I’ll have some of that.”

Dean swallows again, nods wordlessly and heads into the kitchen. Castiel follows him and nonchalantly leans against the doorframe, watching Dean as he reaches for the bottle and two glasses.

“Not much has changed around here, by the looks of it.” he remarks.

Dean grunts.

“Did you think I had enough time to redecorate? It’s been a busy year – I didn’t sit around crying into my beer and hugging a photograph of you.” he grates out, pouring two measures into the glasses. He’s about to turn when Castiel speaks again from directly behind him. Damn. He’d forgotten just how quietly Cas could move, and now he’s splashed whiskey on the counter.

“Believe it or not, Dean, I actually did miss you.” Castiel says in a low voice.

Dean closes his eyes for a second, back still to the other man. 

“Yeah, I could tell,” he manages. “All the letters and calls I got from you – you surely couldn’t bear to be apart from me could you?”

He hates how the hurt he feels sounds in his voice, how he can’t protect himself from the wounds Castiel inflicts on him just by being there. It’s been almost a year. Almost a year since Cas had left him flat, and he’s still not over it. Shit. He picks up the glasses, glad to see that his hands are no longer noticeably shaking and turns to hand one to Castiel. Mistake. As Castiel takes the drink, their fingers brush and Dean feels the touch like an electric charge jolting through his body. He stands, frozen, his eyes locked on Castiels – who suddenly moves closer, putting his glass down on the counter, taking Dean’s from his unresistant hand and putting that down too. His lips are against Dean’s cheek as he softly murmurs

“I did miss you, Dean – I’d forgotten so much about you... how green your eyes are, and how the skin crinkles around them when you smile. I’d forgotten how good you smell, and how warm and smooth your back is…”

Dean’s eyes flutter helplessly closed as he feels Castiels’ lips against his own, and his hands sliding up under Dean’s shirt, stroking his back. His own arms seem involuntarily to reach up and wrap around Castiel, pulling him closer and beginning to kiss him fiercely, passionately. His mind reels as he feels Castiels’ tongue in his mouth, and he can hear himself starting to moan – the last thing he is really conscious of is Castiels’ voice in his ear, hoarsely saying

“Take me to bed, Dean. Fuck me like you used to. Help me to remember you.”

And he doesn’t need asking twice.

 

Some hours later, Dean is lying in his bed with one arm thrown over his eyes. He is trying to prevent the words crowding up his throat from spilling out, begging words, like, please stay, and pointless words, like, I love you. Castiel has showered and is dressing, his body painted alternately red and green from the neon lights outside the pizza parlour opposite the apartment. He has a pensive look on his face as he finishes buttoning his shirt and finally turns to look at Dean.

“You know, I’d forgotten how astonishingly good in bed you are, Dean. Perhaps I’ll come and see you again soon.”

The mocking tone is back in force, doubly grating after the tender words exchanged in bed, the unfeigned passion of their lovemaking – Dean refuses to think of it as simply fucking.

“Don’t do me any favours.” He manages to grate out, and Castiel laughs.

The laugh pushes Dean over into anger, and he sits up, grabbing for his own clothes.

“Maybe I’m stupid, Cas, but I don’t get it,” he spits. “A year ago you walk out on me – leave me flat after two fucking years together! You tell me you find me stifling and you go off without a backward glance. I don’t hear a fucking word from you for a year! And now – what? You want to be fuck-buddies?”

Castiel winces slightly, and goes over to the bed and sits down. He looks up at Dean, who is angrily shrugging a t-shirt over his head.

“Dean, just listen.” He says quietly, and the sincerity of his tone stops Dean from stomping out of the room.

“It’s… it’s not easy to be loved the way you loved me. I knew about a year in that you loved me more than I loved you, and it’s hard… it’s hard to be on that kind of pedestal. I really did love you, Dean, but... I just couldn’t cope. I knew that sooner or later I would hurt you... so it seemed easier to leave you in such a way… that would hurt you so badly you’d hate me... and then you’d get over it, and move on.”

“So – what?” Dean snarls. “To help me get over you, you run off to fucking Mexico with some guy you just met? To be kind to me? To show me you weren’t worthy? Are you fucking insane?”

Castiel is beginning to get angry now, too, and he stands up, stepping closer to Dean.

“It wasn’t about you!” He roars. “It was about me, finding out what I really wanted... God, that sounds lame! Look, Dean,” he continues in a quieter tone, “you frightened me, ok? I couldn’t handle you thinking we were going to go on for ever, getting old together, I.. I just couldn’t handle it.”

“So,” Dean interrupts in a deadly quiet voice, “you’re telling me you didn’t love me enough to stay and weren’t brave enough to tell me then. Fine. I get that. So what was tonight all about? Just you playing games again? Proving you still have a hold on me?”

Castiel looks at him.

“And do I, Dean? Do you still love me?” he whispers.

Dean can’t meet his eyes and he turns away.

“Yeah.” He admits. “yeah, l do. Hell, I probably always will.”

“And will you let me in if I come to see you again?” inquires the soft voice behind him.

Dean’s shoulders slump and the words he’s been trying not to say pour out of him  
.  
“Cas… please. Please stay. Please don’t leave me again.” He mutters brokenly. “I can’t help loving you, God help me… please.. please don’t go..”

For answer, Castiel walks past him out of the bedroom. Dean hears him putting on his coat in the living room, hears him open the apartment door. He thinks he hears Cas say ,  
“I’m so sorry, Dean…”

And then the door closes behind him, and Dean can hear his footsteps going down the stairs. Dean stares emptily at his bedroom wall – red, green, red, green – as something inside him gives way, and the tears finally rise in his eyes. He wishes he could find the switch that turns love off – he can’t stop himself from loving Castiel any more than he can stop himself breathing – even though this love hurts him so much he can hardly bear it. He knows he won’t turn Castiel away if he finds him on the doorstep, and he wonders dully how many times his heart has to be sliced open before it will stop hurting – how many times will Castiel come back, only to leave again.

Well. He knows one way to stop it hurting for tonight at least – and he goes to the kitchen in search of the whiskey.


End file.
